Mania
by xIrelandx
Summary: Manic love is possessive, demanding, worried, and preoccupied. Manics are very intense and easily jealous. Manic relationships rarely end well. Phoenix/Apollo. TW: invasive thoughts, self-harm


_It's such a dumb thing to worry about_, Apollo told himself. He told himself this a lot, hoping that if he said it often enough he'd realize the truth and his heart would stop palpitating like he'd run a marathon. It hadn't worked out so far. In fact, he'd been sitting in the same position on the couch for about twenty minutes now, staring off into space and trying not to panic. Phoenix was supposed to get home at 7:15 from his meeting with Prosecutor Edgeworth, and now Apollo was starting to panic.

He's probably stuck in traffic, he reasoned. _Or he forgot that he promised to meet you, _some dark voice of doubt countered.

Apollo broke his dry dry and cracked lips apart with his tongue, wetting them as he went. He hadn't spoken since Trucy left for her show at the Wonder Bar. He and Phoenix didn't get to have a lot of alone time, so he'd promised to make it back home before Trucy got back so they could spend some time together. The fact that he hadn't returned yet was sparking Apollo's nerves.

"It probably is just traffic, though." Maybe if he said it out loud, that would cement the validity of the statement. Would make it truth. "It's nothing to worry about."

_Of course, the alternative is that he's dead in a back alley somewhere. That he opted to walk instead of taking a cab, and you'll never see him again._

"Shut up." He meant to hiss it, but his throat was too hoarse. It came out as more of a growl that made him cough. He rubbed his thighs nervously, trying to wipe off the sweat. He was hungry, his legs were asleep, and he needed to pee. But there was something that kept him glued to the couch - the belief that Phoenix really could walk through that door at any moment...

_You're pathetic._ Apollo huffed, bending his knees to the best of his ability and using his downward-facing palms to push himself up from the class. He wobbled slightly, calves knocking against the hard wood side of the coffee table. His feet felt like static. He couldn't move much without fear of falling over. He leaned against the arm of the couch, looking at the room around him in an attempt to find something to distract his anxious mind.

He reached over and wiped one hand across the dusty piano lid, reveling in the feeling of the soft dust on his fingers like feathers in a pillow. Phoenix still hadn't learned to play the damn thing, although occasionally when they were alone he'd plonk out a few notes to one of the songs he'd managed to pick up, half joking and half serious. As though Apollo was someone he'd wanted to both amuse and impress.

_You're not_. "Stop that," he muttered, rubbing the particles between two fingers. He brushed his hand off on his pants, giving a few more quick swipes to the piano lid, even running one finger under the lip. He hated to see anything done half-assed.

_That's why your relationship with Nick bothers you so much. You know he's not really into you_. Apollo bit his lip, closed his eyes, and turned away physically in his attempt to escape the mental barrage of negativity.

"M-maybe I should give him a call," he suggested to absolutely no one. The cordless phone was still laying on the endtable, where Phoenix had placed it before running out to meet his friend. Apollo could feel temptation swirling through him to dial the first number - Mr. Edgeworth's number - and try to glean what he could from the way the man answered. Remind him as casually as possible that Phoenix was his boyfriend, try to make it sound like he wasn't alone and jealous or in any way upset about Phoenix standing him up.

There was a quick gasp escaping from Apollo's lips as he though he hit the wrong button, dialing the number he was sorely tempted to punch in. He could all but hear the sighs and compliments of lengthy friendships, tinkling of tea cups and laughter, and maybe something a little more.

But he only heard the dial tone.

He breathed in relief, carefully touching the numerical notations that made up Phoenix's number. The phone rang and rang, at least five times, before voicemail answered. "Hi, you've reached the cell phone of Phoenix Wright. I'm not available right now -"

Apollo hit end and let his thumb trail down to caress the grooves of the speaker. There was some odd feeling welling in his chest, threatening to break loose. He knew where this line of thinking was going, and he didn't like it.

But he couldn't stop it, either. _I bet I know what he's doing with Mr. Edgeworth._ "No," Apollo whispered to himself. "No, Phoenix is different."

_Isn't that what we thought about Kristoph? And look how you turned out. Unimportant to him, unimportant to Phoenix. You're even unimportant to yourself, aren't you, Apollo?_ "No, that's - that's not true." The hand holding the phone tight was shaking now, the plastic creaking under this fingers.

_ Really? Because I think we both know that if you didn't show up for work tomorrow, no one would know you were missing. No one would care. No one would look for you._ "Athena," his voice cracked. "A-and Juniper, Klavier -"

_But not the one you really want looking for you. After all, Apollo, who would want you when they could have Miles Edgeworth, Chief Prosecutor? They've been friends for a long time, and Mr. Edgeworth is so distinguished and handsome. He has so much more to offer than you do. And Phoenix likes him better than you._

Apollo couldn't remember doing it, but he must have thrown the phone across the room. Hit hit the linoleum of the kitchen floor, the base skittering and sliding across as the shattered pieces flew out. He could feel his eyes growing wet, harsh tears tugging at his eyes. Apollo scared himself sometimes.

Apollo tentatively stepped across the linoleum, picking up stray shards as he went. His shoulders were shaking, but the dam hadn't opened up quite yet. It was just a stupid telephone, after all. It was explaining how it broke that would be the difficult part. He'd feel awful for lying, but how would the truth look to Nick?

_It would show him the monster you really are_, the voice in his head concluded. He would know then what sort of person you are, how unhealthy and unstable. And then he'll want you out. He'll hate you, Apollo, if he doesn't already.

Something scraped against the palm of Apollo's hand, although he didn't notice it at first. He was dropping the broken pieces of the telephone into the garbage can when he noticed a line of blood on his right palm. He watched as on particular bead swam between his fingers, landing in a puddle of blood already formed on the floor. He was transfixed by this bizarre sight, a clean white splashed with red.

_A perfect metaphor for you, Apollo. A stain on other people's lives, an interruption to perfection. You're only a detriment to yourself and others. Honestly, you should just leave. _

_They deserve better._

Apollo sunk to the floor, still supporting his right hand with his left. He normally tried not to give in to the internal monologue, but this time the voice was right: he was a loser, an inconvenience to Trucy and Phoenix. He didn't belong there, and he never did. He didn't belong anywhere, to anyone. His whole body was shaking now, tears streaking his cheeks and stinging his eyes. This relationship was his first healthy one, the first connection he'd made that helped him feel at home. And yet here he was, royally fucking it up, like he did with everything else. He didn't even need to tell Phoenix what he'd been feeling or fearing, as the guilt of the thoughts would be enough to drive him insane.

"I'm such an asshole," he hissed. "Maybe - Maybe he should -"

"Apollo?" The man in question froze, clean hand running through his hair. He held his breath, wondering if he could still disappear like he always did in middle school. He remained quiet enough, and no one noticed he was there. He could see Phoenix in the front room, taking off his jacket and placing it over his briefcase, thrown on the couch. "Polly?" he asked again. He looked genuinely worried for a minute, but managed to lock eyes with the younger man. Apollo was embarrassed by his silence and looked down. The chase and the fear and the hiding were all part of obscure nightmares he'd always had, but none quite as explicit in meaning as what he was experiencing now.

"There you are," Phoenix called softly. "What are you doing on the floor?" Apollo didn't answer, recoiling in on himself. Phoenix reached a hand out, grabbing Apollo's wrist. "Let me see," he demanded. He saw the cut, now dry although still sore. He smiled halfway at it. "Almost looks like a smile," he commented, and kissed it. "All better now," he whispered, and leaned in to give Apollo a kiss. Apollo looked away at the last minute so that the kiss landed on his cheek instead of his lips.

His partner went still, then moved back. "Apollo?" Apollo didn't look up. He could never lie to Phoenix - not only did the magatama get in the way, but the man's eyes always made him tell the truth. He didn't know how, they just did. "Apollo, what's wrong?"

"I-I broke your phone," he mumbled.

"Oh," Phoenix pattered his knee. "That's okay, but that's also not the whole truth." Apollo wouldn't meet his eyes. "Apollo, why did you break the phone?"

"I - I don't...know. I tried calling you and, I just - ah -"

Phoenix rubbed his thigh in an attempt to comfort the younger man. It might have worked, had his next words not been, "So what were you calling about?"

The steady flow of tears normally easy to hide were suddenly evicted with force. Apollo made a bizarre, high-pitched choking noise and slapped a hand over his mouth. This was it - he was humiliated now, his emotions getting the better of him. He stood up suddenly, almost knocking his mentor over in the rush to get away. Phoenix was startled, and stood up along with him. His eyes were wide, frightened, like they were back in the courtroom and Phoenix could swear he was channeling Kristoph. Apollo's insides were a train wreck, his heart near combustion. He was out of control now, the facade of sanity completely lost.

Phoenix grabbed hold of his shoulders, fingers firmly wrapped around the bone to hold him in place. "Apollo! Snap out of it!" He even sounded frightened. Frightened of you, the voice reminded him. Apollo reached up and started tugging his hair. He wanted to shout at the voice to go away, but he didn't want Phoenix to think he was the one being shouted at. Nick's hands left his shoulders and went to his wrists, dragging them away from the horn-styled bangs he was trying so hard to rip out.

Apollo felt himself being lead out of the kitchen, being made to sit on the couch. The internal panic was so bad he felt he was being asphyxiated from the inside out. Phoenix sat next to him on the couch, cross-legged and facing him. "I'm sorry," Apollo whispered, once the noise in his head stopped."

Phoenix frowned. He looked as though he wanted to wrap his arms around the other attorney, squeeze his shoulder or even pat him on the back. But none of that came. "It's okay, Apollo. I just don't understand what's wrong."

Apollo licked his lips, contemplating his options at this point. He could explain the whole messy thing to Phoenix: the voice of self-loathing, his loss of control, his doubts about his placement in their relationship. Of how much he meant to Phoenix, or if the older man was holding onto him out of pity. Instead, Apollo found himself saying those six small words most people dread to hear: "I think we should break up."

He didn't look up to see the face of absolute heartbreak that Phoenix was wearing. He only heard the flat "What?" that managed to sound so nervous despite the lack of a tone. "Why?"

And here was the tricky part, the part Apollo probably should have thought of first. What could he possibly say as to why? Tell him the truth? "It's - It's just, I don't, d-deserve you, and I just - I feel like I'm getting in the way of things, and if you'd rather be with Mr. Edgeworth -"

There was a small sound - a laugh? a snort of indignation? "Excuse me?"

"Look, I just -" Apollo was agitated now. How difficult was Phoenix going to make this on him. "I don't want to be a - a rebound. I don't think I could handle that. And I don't -" A million flashes before his eyes of Phoenix leaving him, of seeing Phoenix with Mr. Edgeworth, of them being much happier together than Apollo could ever make him. "I'm sorry," Apollo said. There was a silence on the other end that made his stomach drop. This was a sick game, a scenario that played out in nearly all of his relationships. His worries and fears would get the better of him, he'd express a passive-aggressive self-doubt, and the other person would assuage his fears until the next time he had an episode. Normally, the real break-ups didn't happen so quickly, but Phoenix wasn't moving.

Something inside of Apollo broke. _You're useless. You gave him an out, so of course he's going to take that. Who would ever want to stay with you?_ Apollo didn't try denying the voice either verbally or mentally now, head whipping around the room for something sharp to play with. _No, no_, he thought._ I can't do that, not here, not now. That will just seem like emotional manipulation, and that's not what I want to do, not to someone I love so much. I need to wait until I'm alone -_

"Apollo, sit down." He couldn't remember having stood up, now that his chain of thought was broken. He expected Phoenix to look stern, exasperated. Not...broken. Apollo did as told, hands folded between his knees. "Where is all of this -" He broke off, and groan. "Shit," he hissed. "I'm half an hour late."

"I- It doesn't matter, Mr. Wright. I don't - I don't matter, it's okay, it's fine -"

"Knock it off," It was said without venom, but it still surprised Apollo. "None of that is true. Clearly, it's not fine - and even if you insisted as it was, I'm not okay with how late I am. My watch must be broken, because I could have sworn I was getting home early." The look of worry developed into a frown. A painful one that Apollo knew how to make but had never seen on someone else. "And you do matter, Polly. You meant the world to me, you and Trucy." Apollo was too embarrassed to meet his eyes, squirming in place. Phoenix pulled him over into his lap. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Apollo buried his head into the older man's chest, left hand clutching the fabric of his shirt. His head was pounding now, a side effect of the crying he'd been doing. "I don't want to hold you back from being happy," he admitted.

"Nonsense," Phoenix whispered. He was running a hand through Apollo's hair, soothingly. Apollo had always imagined this something parents would do, but he'd never actually experienced it.

It was calming. He could understand why so many people used it in their interactions with others. "I don't understand how I could possibly make you happy. After everything I put you through, so constantly - these sorts of episodes, they - they aren't new -"

Phoenix pushed Apollo back gently, kissing his forehead. "I know. I figured. You're anxious, Apollo, but there's nothing wrong with that." Apollo remained silent, not meeting his mentor's eyes. "I wish you would stop thinking I'm going to leave you. I'm not, Apollo. I don't leave people, they leave me."

"Even after - after everything?"

"When you love someone, you accept them, no matter what. You don't leave them because things are difficult. Life is difficult, but that's no reason to give up on it. And I won't give up on you either, Apollo. I'll reassure you, no matter how many hundreds of times you need it. I love you."

Apollo could feel his heart beating in his throat. As Phoenix took his face in hand to kiss him, properly, on the lips, his mind tried to start another war. _He's being disingenuous, he doesn't really love you_, the dark voice said.

But his heart protested. _Yes, he does_. "I love you too.

"


End file.
